


A Commemoration of Firsts

by goldfusion



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Black Jackals, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, High School, Hinata Shouyou is Sunshine, Inarizaki, Lawyers, MSBY, Miya Atsumu Being an Asshole, Miya Atsumu Being an Idiot, Miya Atsumu Needs a Hug, Miya Atsumu Swears, Miya Atsumu in Love, Miya Atsumu is a Little Shit, Post-Time Skip, Strong Female Characters, Volleyball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28197126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldfusion/pseuds/goldfusion
Summary: Atsumu is, once again, baffled. His internal dialogue is full on Edvard Munch,The Scream. At this point, he’s is pretty sure she’s notplayinghard to get. She’s just mean (and audacious). He’s not asking for her hand in holy matrimony, he’s just asking her tohang out, in a noncommittal undefined timeframe. No one has rejected that invitation before.Ever. He’s a professional athlete on his way to the Olympics, who in their right mind…?
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Original Character(s), Miya Atsumu & Reader, Miya Atsumu/Original Female Character(s), Miya Atsumu/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 87





	A Commemoration of Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> Just some swearing and mentions of sex, nbd.

Much of Miya Atsumu’s life has been marked by milestones less than conventional. To most, recounting a life story goes something like “remember when I had my first girlfriend?”, “remember when I got accepted into university?”, “remember when I rented that apartment?”; but to Atsumu, it’s more like “remember when I did my first jump serve?”, “remember when I went to the All-Japan Youth training camp?”, “remember when Karasuno beat us that one time?”. He thinks about that discrepancy sometimes. It doesn’t bother him _per se_ , but he thinks about it. Sometimes.

His first volleyball was a Mikasa, red, white and green, bought from the department store a 20-minute drive away from his house. His first girlfriend’s name…probably starts with an A, or maybe it was Erika? 

On the first snow of the first winter he’s signed by the Black Jackals, he, like always, does not stop to consider commemorating these firsts, or even committing them to memory. Instead, he is contemplating if maybe he added some more weight to his squats and lower the reps, he could jump a bit higher. 

Bokuto puts some weird song on the speakers as they are stretching after a practice match just as the manager walks in and requests, firmly but politely, for it to be turned off (to which Bokuto begrudgingly complies). Atsumu smirks, then notices a girl standing behind the manager, about his age, wearing this profesh-looking black blazer. 

“You can resume you DJing later Bokuto,” Mr. manager jokes, “I just wanted to introduce you to our new lawyer, she’ll be responsible for all your contract renewals from now on…” blah blah blah corporate talk, legal words. 

Atsumu is more preoccupied studying the face of said lawyer. She has on this (fake) polite-looking smile. Where has he seen her face before? She pans her gaze across the team members, then meets his eye. He doesn’t bother looking away and neither does she. She just exaggerates her fake smile a bit more in acknowledgement, then goes on to introducing herself, all composed and lawyer-like. 

Yeah, the name doesn’t ring a bell either. But he definitely knows her from _somewhere_.

When the manager leaves with Ms. New-Lawyer-With-The-Fake-Smile, Bokuto resumes his noise-pollution and Hinata comes up to Atsumu with a grin. 

“Miya-san” the ginger sings in his excited not-quite-indoor voice, “what were you staring at?” obviously teasing.

“Her face”, the blond answers matter-of-factly, “I’ve seen it somewhere before. Can’t remember,” Too matter of fact, Hinata suddenly doesn’t know how to continue teasing.

\--

Ms. New-Lawyer-With-The-Fake-Smile is heading out the gym, exchanging unnecessary small talk with the Black Jackals manager. Oh yes the weather. It _is_ snowing. That happens…when it’s cold…

“Oh, Miss (y/n), I recall seeing on your resume that you graduate from Inarizaki High”, sensing her disinterest in the weather, the manager attempts to change the topic, “our setter also came from that school. I wonder if you two know each other.”

She doesn’t respond with the sort of surprise or enthusiasm he expects, just politely, “Yes, Miya Atsumu”, with no intention of continuing with the conversation. All composed and lawyer-like. 

When she left, the team manager returns to the gym and revives the conversation with Atsumu in hopes of satisfying his curiosity. “Did you know her?” he asks the setter, coming off a little nosey to be honest, “you guys look to be about the same age.”

Atsumu raises his eyebrows. So that’s where he’d seen her face. He weaves through his memory for a second, then shakes his head, “I thought she looked familiar, but I dunno, didn’t recognize her name.”

\--

That one’s on him, him and his shitty memory and complete disregard for anything unrelated to volleyball. They did, in fact, know each other, or should have. She was in his class for three whole-ass years. His first girlfriend was her then-best-friend, whose name neither starts with an A nor is Erika.

She was a little awkward, not the out-spoken type, like a lot of people are in high school. Her friend who is _not_ named Erika, was much more charismatic than she, and was her neighbour. They grew up together. That’s why two completely unalike people could be best friends, but also why they no longer are. That’s just an unfortunate consequence of adulthood. 

The Miyas, on the other hand, were the dazzling type, oozing the sort of nonchalant charisma teenagers were obsessed with. Their impassivity and general indifference towards non-athletic endeavors (including girls and dating) only seemed to make them more alluring. And there were _two_ of them. 

She liked reading historical mangas and made friends with more teachers than classmates, but she was just like the other girls. She would sneak glances at the twins when she thought no one was looking. But Osamu was always more her type, at least that was what she said when her friend started dating Atsumu. Which, turned out to be a short-lived relationship, but who’s surprised?

Then they graduated and she got into a hella prestigious university for law. She grew into her bone structure, learned that waterproof mascara is better for holding a curl, and promptly forgot about her high school crush. Why reminisce over a guy who doesn’t know how to tone his bleached hair when you’re surrounded by dudes in name-brand suits and use Latin in their daily practice? Though admittedly, she is still a little awkward and not the out-spoken type.

\--

Usually, there seldom comes instances where an athlete would have to come in direct contact with their lawyers. That’s the managers’ job. But Black Jackal’s manager spends way more time than necessary watching their practice, because it’s his hobby or something, so every time Ms. New-Lawyer-With-The-Fake-Smile needs a signature or a quick correspondence, she has to run to their training gym. She’s not happy about it, her firm is not reimbursing her gas money, but she isn’t about to complain to her client.

Thus, Atsumu ends up seeing more of her than he expects, and every time, she comes in with this smile so obviously fake he doubts she’s even trying. This is why his worst fear is a nine to five corporate job, and why people in suits and ties irk him. Although her and her little pantsuits are a little…charming, he would be dead before he admits that, to himself or anyone else. 

On one of the days she comes in, they have just ended practice, Mr. manager decides this is a good time to pick up a little gossip, one of his many hobbies. “Miss (y/n),” he says just as Atsumu is approaching, “Didn’t you mention last time that you knew Miya from high school?”

Atsumu turns to them, a little annoyed, “No,” he answers before she can, “I told you,” then narrows his eyes to look at her.

She blinks a couple times, one eyebrow slightly raised. Then, slowly and coolly, replies to the manager, “Yes. I did know him. We were in the same class.”

Atsumu almost blushes. His teammates are gathering, seemingly occupied with whatever they have their hands on, but he knows they’re all eavesdropping. Gossiping is a hobby shared by many on this team. He looks at her a little harder. Sure he didn’t have a reputation for being a nice guy, but she just deliberately made him look bad, which is fully unnecessary (maybe even a little mean). 

He clears his throat, not taking his eyes off hers, as if this is a challenge. “Oh, my bad,” he says, aloof, “guess you didn’t leave much of an impression.” Okay, that’s definitely mean.

Now both her brows are raised. She hands their manager the papers she’s been holding, then says in a tone as calm as before, “yeah, probably.” She looks back to Atsumu and flashes him that fake-ass smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, says a quick goodbye to the manager, and then just _leaves_. 

Atsumu trails his gaze after her. He is baffled. The _audacity_ of this woman. She didn’t even give him a reaction.

“What was that?” Someone says behind him.

Yeah…what _was_ that?

\--

So maybe this is what people mean when they say you can get a guy’s attention by playing hard to get, because he keeps thinking about her and the way she just walks in here with her stupid pantsuit and that fake-ass smile like the lawyer that she is. This is why lawyers become politicians and people hate politicians, he thinks (which makes no actual sense). 

Despite the frequency with which she appears in his thoughts (without paying rent), he doesn’t end up seeing her again until the days are longer and warmer. He runs into her in the gymnasium’s hall. She meets his eye, and smiles as greeting. That. Same. Fucking. Smile. And suddenly he is exasperated (for really no reason at all). He stops dead in his tracks, and calls out to stop her in hers too. 

She does that brow raise thing, then replies, “Miya-san?” _All composed and lawyer-like._ Gross.

It is at this point that he realizes, with the little rationality peeking through his unsolicited anger, that he doesn’t know why he stopped her. What is he going to say? I hate the way you smile? He isn’t that much of a dick. So he just stands there, lips parted, and looks at her. She looks back, head tilted.

Then he remembers the last time when she made everything so awkward. “We were in the same class in high school?” he asks, a little desperate sounding. 

“Yes,” her face is fully neutral, “you dated my friend then broke up with her in two weeks.” 

And Atsumu thought it couldn’t be worse than last time. Is that what this is about? Is she mad at him for breaking up with some girl in high school? “Why do you sound like you’re interrogating me?” he says and exhales in a sarcastic laugh, noticeably irritated.

She considers this for a second, then replies smoothly, “no, I didn’t mean that. It’s not my business,” genuine, but without an ounce of emotion.

He is baffled (again). The _audacity_. Why does she always sound like that? Why does she always _smile_ like that? The more he thinks about it, the angrier he gets. Why doesn’t she give him the reactions he expects of her? 

Seeing his silence, she takes it as a cue to leave and be on her way. She smiles again, then resumes walking in his direction. Just as she passes, Atsumu calls out again, this time louder and curter. Her footsteps stop. He tilts his head slightly, not fully looking at her. He isn’t thinking about what he’s about to say, just that he is absurdly pissed off, but when the words are released from his tongue, even he is surprised, “you wanna go out sometime?”

What the fu-

She snaps her head back to look at him, for the first time losing her composure. She’s not blushing though, somehow that makes Atsumu disappointed. 

For a second she thinks he’s lost his mind, or joking, or a masochist. Or all of the above. She doesn’t respond for a long time, prompting him to turn around to make sure she is still there. She takes her time, auditioning what she’s planning to say, then settles for a rather anticlimactic, “um, not really,” sparing him of the “you don’t exactly have a good track record in the dating field, you don’t wear expensive suits every day, you probably don’t know any Latin, and you still don’t know how to tone your hair” part. Better left unsaid.

Nonetheless, Atsumu is, once again, baffled. His internal dialogue is full on Edvard Munch, _The Scream_. At this point, he’s is pretty sure she’s not _playing_ hard to get. She’s just mean (and audacious). He’s not asking for her hand in holy matrimony, he’s just asking her to _hang out_ , in a noncommittal undefined timeframe. No one has rejected that invitation before. _Ever_. He’s a professional athlete on his way to the Olympics, who in their right mind…?

“Are you holding a grudge against me for breaking up with your friend or something?” He does that sarcastic laugh again, playing it cool. 

“No,” she answers without missing a beat this time, “like I said, that’s none of my business. We’re not even friends anymore,” again, sincere but apathetic.

He wants to probe further, why wouldn’t she go out with him then? But stops himself. Can’t sound too desperate. “Okay then,” he waves, readying to leave, “see ya around”. He hears her footsteps pick up and eventually fade. 

Well, that felt like a punch in the gut.

Maybe she’s a sociopath, he reasons. That’s it. Sociopath.

\--

At the end of the year, to celebrate their wins in the V.League, the manager agrees to take the team out to the local bar, drinks on him. For this group of early 20-year old’s who spend most of their days on diets too restrictive for alcohol, this is nothing short of a blessing. They are crammed into their own booth, and wholesome fun slowly descends into chaos. By midnight, the manager is making up shitty haiku poems, Hinata and Bokuto are in a bear hug confessing their love and admiration for each other, and Sakusa looks like he is suffering. Atsumu, seasoned partygoer and ex-serial-bar-hopper, is only slightly buzzed and extremely disappointed that his teammates don’t even have it in them to make it past midnight. 

With a disgruntle huff, he stands up from the booth and makes his way to the bar. He asks for another shot, then, as he stands waiting, spots a certain legal practitioner with an uncanny smile. 

She isn’t in a pantsuit, he muses. She is in a dress, and, notably, alone. It has been months since their last confrontation, enough for the sting of awkwardness to wear off. Plus, he’s tipsy.

“What are you doing here?” He quips as he approaches, sitting on the stool next to her with his body turned, one elbow on the bar top, a practiced kind of pose familiar to every bar frequenter. She looks up at him with marginal surprise.

Huh, she’s wearing lipstick today, a mauvy colour.

Her face appears a little flushed, or maybe it’s the lighting. Her eyes are less sharp tonight as she contemplates what to tell him, and how much. When she decides, she speaks with the same curtness as before, “I got stood up by a date.” 

And Atsumu is left unsure of what to say, _again_. He’s taken an eccentric kind of pride in always being equipped with witty and pointed remarks, though this ability seems defective with her. All he manages is, “Why?” which is an honest question. Why would anyone in their right mind…he catches himself before finishing the thought.

The bartender brings him his shot. She looks at the glass, then back at him, expecting. He chuckles at her, and takes it with a jerk of his head. 

As if that was the completion of some ritual, she answers, “I told him I’m a lawyer. He asked how much I make, then probably decided that was too much for his ego.”

Atsumu decides that sugar-coating should be a mandatory course in school. Honesty is not always a virtue. He examines her as she takes a sip of her drink, leaving an imprint of lipstick on the rim of the glass. Her face is relaxed, unphased, she doesn’t seem sad. Strange. 

Since sympathy has never been his strength, he offers, “you know, sometimes you could lie about this sort of thing.”

Her brows crinkle, “Why should I have to?”

Touché. 

“Or, just, don’t be so honest all the time,” he retorts, thinking back at the various awkward situations they shared in large part due to her bluntness.

She doesn’t respond at this, just swirling the drink in her hands, the brown liquid ripples against the clinking ice cubes. Atsumu suspects it to be whiskey, then secretly judges her to drink like some 40-year-old man. 

Then, she interrupts his train of thought, “do you want to have sex?”

What the fuck.

Edvard Munch returns. Atsumu sits there, dumfounded. _Baffled_.

But then, in another act of speaking before he thinks, he answers “Yes?” the question mark almost audible at the end, “but…why?” she rejects his offer at a date but returns an invitation to hookup?

After a beat, she puts down her drink, “I’m looking for the right combination of dopamine and serotonin to get through this god-forsaken night.”

He takes a moment to digest this, then rolls his eyes. She always talks with such unnecessary definitude. She can’t just say I want to have a good time, or I kinda like you, or maybe I think you’re hot, _no_ , it’s about dopamine and hormones and shit. He laughs. Such a _lawyer_. 

She turns in her seat to face him and catches his gaze. “But also,” she adds, “to prove a point that I don’t need to lie to get laid,” this time she smiles, and finally, for the first time, it reaches her eyes, the depth of which reflects the colour tinted lights of the bar. Suddenly the room gets too warm for Atsumu. 

He shoots a quick glance back to his booth. They won’t miss him. 

“Your place or mine?”

When they leave, it’s snowing outside. The first of the year.

\--

Some years later, the Atsumu who swore loyalty to Android bought himself a new iPhone. He spent the afternoon on the living room floor transferring data from the old phone to the new. As he scrolled through his photo gallery, he found a picture of his team as they won their first V.League Championship. That was quite the eventful year.

“Hey, remember the first time I saw you after high school?” he called out to the bathroom, “in Osaka, when it was snowing?”

“You mean when I first got hired by Black Jackals?” (y/n) walks out, wiping her not-quite-dry hands on her pants, “was it snowing?”

“Yeah, it was the first snow that winter” he recalls, not sure why or how he remembers, “I thought you looked kinda familiar, but I couldn’t quite place my finger on it.”

She smirks, “you have the memory of a goldfish when it comes to anything non-volleyball.”

He glares up at her from his spot on the carpet, then yanks her by the hand down to his lap. Wrapping his arms around her, his nuzzles his face against the crook of her neck. “I remember,” he complains in almost a whine, “I remember when we won the championship that year, we went to a bar. And I saw you there,”

“And I asked for a hookup,” she interjects, laughing to herself.

Atsumu gives a toothy grin, “and it snowed that night too, also the first snow.”

She seems impressed by his memory, so he continues, “I _also_ remember when I first asked you out you said no,” he looks at her with mocking pain, “I was so heartbroken I could die.”

She laughs in a silent chuckle, “so dramatic,” rolling her eyes.

Atsumu also remembers, that he in fact, did have a mini freak out when she rejected him. Drama and all. Maybe next time, when he _does_ ask for her hand in holy matrimony, he’ll buy some purple shampoo and wear a fancy suit and tie. Dior, Ferragamo, whatever brand she likes (god knows how many figures the household income of a world-class athlete and a corporate lawyer is), and hopefully, her answer won’t be “um, not really” this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow haven't posted in 2 years...anyway, pls leave a comment, they are always a pleasure. Also let me know if you have any requests/prompts. 2020 has given me a lot of time but inspiration is rare, so always appreciated.


End file.
